


Éphémère (ENJOLRAS X OC)

by GypsyParis



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:25:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9230780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsyParis/pseuds/GypsyParis
Summary: We all know this story: Enjolras; a man who loves nothing other than France. But, every man has his weakness. One night, he unexpectedly encounters General Lamarque's distraught daughter; Patria.The barricades are rising, yet he finds himself falling. A story of love, war, freedom awaits.Which one does he dare choose?(ENJOLRAS X OC; ON-GOING)





	1. EPILOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ a u t h o r ' s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
> 
> I DO NOT OWN LES MISÉRABLES, NOR AM I VICTOR HUGO. Thank you!
> 
> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Courfeyrac, seated on a paving-stone beside Enjolras, continued to insult the cannon, and each time that that gloomy cloud of projectiles which is called grape-shot passed overhead with its terrible sound he assailed it with a burst of irony.

"You are wearing out your lungs, poor, brutal, old fellow, you pain me, you are wasting your row. That's not thunder, it's a cough."

And the bystanders laughed.

Courfeyrac and Bossuet, whose brave good humor increased with the peril, like Madame Scarron, replaced nourishment with pleasantry, and, as wine was lacking, they poured out gayety to all.

"I admire Enjolras," said Bossuet. "His impassive temerity astounds me. He lives alone, which renders him a little sad, perhaps; Enjolras complains of his greatness, which binds him to widowhood.

The rest of us have mistresses, more or less, who make us crazy, that is to say, brave. When a man is as much in love as a tiger, the least that he can do is to fight like a lion. That is one way of taking our revenge for the capers that mesdames our grisettes play on us.

Roland gets himself killed for Angelique; all our heroism comes from our women. A man without a woman is a pistol without a trigger; it is the woman that sets the man off. Well, Enjolras has no woman. He is not in love, and yet he manages to be intrepid. It is a thing unheard of that a man should be as cold as ice and as bold as fire."

Enjolras did not appear to be listening, but had any one been near him, that person would have heard him mutter in a low voice: **_"Patria."_**


	2. What Could a Girl Do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ a u t h o r ' s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
>  **Whoo, finally posting this fic! Oh gosh, I really loved Enjolras in the book, movie, and play, so I ended up doing this. Enjolras in this fic is based of Aaron Tveit's, even though Ramin Karimloo slays as well~~**  
>  **I DO NOT OWN LES MISÉRABLES, NOR AM I VICTOR HUGO. Thank you!**  
>  **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
> **  
> 

"Ah!"

A sharp gasp elicited from her slightly parted lips as she winced in pain. Her breath fogged up the mirror in front of her, but she hardly care at the given moment. That damned corset….

"Amélie….. ow!" The young woman managed in between breaths, "P-please I think…... that…. will do…."

The said lady poked her head for her back and into view, looking at her through the slightly fogged up mirror. Amélie always had her flaming red hair securely tied up into a bun behind her head, away from her pale face. She had thin, colorless lips, which only accentuated the buck teeth that rested upon them. And although she never spoke nor mentioned any word of her age, one could say that she was a woman in her late twenties. She stared at her nervously.

"But Madame, Monseigneur Lamarque said- "

"I know what Papa said! But do you really deem it possible for me to fit in this?" She sighed, put her hands over the 20'' corset, "Only a stick would be able to fit itself in this corset without dying! And do you know why?"

Amélie stifled a laugh and shook her head.

"Because, Madame, sticks are not alive!" She sounded in between laughing or easily passing out into her maid's arms, but either way, Améile understood. Any more inches thinner, and the poor girl would not hesitate to throw herself out of the balcony.

"Okay, Madame," she chuckled, tying the laces of her corset together to finally end the torture. "But, with all due respect Madame, I don't think Monseigneur will be pleased."

The brunette took wasted no time standing up and stretching her aching muscles much like a cat. "Well, with all due respect Madame, I don't think 'Monseigneur' Papa would be pleased watching me run out of breath and pass out in front of hundreds of people, wouldn't you agree?"

Amélie laughed heartily, which she never did often. "Quite true, Madame!" the red-head agreed as she put the finishing touches on the young lady's frilly dress. "Now, let's see you."

The girl paused for a minute, but hesitantly spun around to see her maid face-to-face. The auburn hair she usually kept down when she was in the comfort of her home, was now neatly wound into a braid, then expertly tied into bun by Amélie herself. She wore a midnight blue dress – her personal favorite – and a white, frilly petticoat to go underneath it. She looked beautiful. The only thing missing was a smile.

She was clearly nervous as she fumbled with the gloves that matched her dress, refusing to put them on due to her sweaty palms. Poor girl. Being a French commander's daughter, the citizens of Paris, let alone France, looked up at her with high expectations, and so did her father. What could a girl do?

"Well, I must get going," the woman spoke up, bringing Amélie out of her guilt-filled thoughts. "Papa would not like me to be late and with a loose corset."

The red-head gave a quick nod and fetched a simple, but decent straw hat to go along with the outfit and gently arranged it upon the crown of her head.

"Indeed, Madame," she smiled, gently soothing the brunette's tense muscles with her hands.

"Thank you as always, Amélie."

"It is always my pleasure, Madame. Best of luck to you, as I think you will need it."

The girl chuckled, but took it as no joke. She was, in fact, quite desperate for any sign of luck. She yearned for that little hint of destiny everybody had once in their life that would make their life better, or even change completely. And Amélie was not the only person who knew but the only person who could understand her unfortunate self.

One may ask, why would a rich, famous girl from Paris be unfortunate? Let alone, the daughter of General Jean Maximilien Lamarque, a known French commander, a part of the French Parliament, who served with distinction in many of Napoleon's campaigns.

Well that is because, my dear readers, this girl was simply unfortunate. Simply, naturally, horrifically, unintentionally unfortunate. So clumsy, that when she was a little girl, her flipping of a sou resulted in a huge, wooden cart collapsing on a poor old man. He surely would have died, if not for the kind – not to mention, impossibly strong – Monsieur le Mayor somehow lifting it off him. But, the look of her Papa Lamarque's furious face was not a pretty sight.

Some may call it a coincidence once in a while, but 'a while' became to often. As she grew older, more 'coincidences' occurred, resulting in more and more disappointed feedback from her father. But what could she do? Her Papa would not last forever, and the people of France could not be let down.

The thought itself sent a cold shiver down her spine. That's right…. Her Papa Lamarque would be turning 61 in a matter of days. But, what becomes of her once he's finally… gone? She absentmindedly shook her head at the thought.

"No need to fret," she reassured the red-head, but mostly herself. "I believe I will be just fine."

Amélie gave her a concerned look as she reached out and gripped her shaking hands. They were cold, but slightly sweaty as well. "….Alright."

She gave a sweet smile, slightly easing her worrying maid. "Then, Amélie, I shall see you at noon," she gave her own reassuring grip before quickly putting on the gloves to cover her shaking hands and cold fingertips. And before she knew it, she was out the door.

Amélie gave a long, exasperated sigh. She could only pray that the poor child would accept herself as who she was and who she wanted to be. The girl was clearly distraught, yet she had no choice. What could a girl do?

"God in heaven, give her courage…." She silently prayed, "Be well, Madame Patria."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> ****
> 
>  
> 
> **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ a u t h o r ' s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**
> 
>  
> 
> **Yep! There she is! I don't know if I did well on the introductions, so I'm just gonna soba in the corner hbhbh… No Enjolras yet though, sorry! Next chapter will be posted soon, I promise!**
> 
>  
> 
> **Bear in mind that this is an ON-GOING fanfic that I intend on continuing. Go ahead an FOLLOW this story if you want to find out what happens! Also, PLEASE let me know what you think about this story/chapter by REVIEWING! It helps me out a lot. Any questions? I'm all open!**
> 
>  
> 
> **See ya in the next chapter! Have a good day~! XoXo**
> 
>  
> 
> **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**  
> 


	3. Patria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ au t h o r ' s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**
> 
> **I DO NOT OWN LES MISÉRABLES, NOR AM I VICTOR HUGO. Thank you!**
> 
> **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
> **

It had been a long, tedious morning, not to mention, more humid than anyone would have expected. Patria sat drowsily on the comfortable cushions of her carriage as it occasionally shook from the brick streets. Tiny beads of sweat began forming on her forehead, and she hastily wiped them away. What was wrong with the weather on this fine day?

She had just come form Place Vendôme, where she filled in for her ill father, reciting a speech to the people of France. Luckily, she was no longer required to produce an inspirational, motivational, and worthy speech, as she merely was required to read it in front of a crowd. That is to say, a 3-hour long speech to nearly a thousand people.

And yet, she was proud to say that she managed to survive. Well, at least 'he' would be pleased.

"Oh, Papa…" Patria sighed exasperatedly as her grip tightened on the frills of her dress, "I am trying for you."

~ ~ ~ xxXxx ~ ~ ~ 

"How was the speech, Madame?"

The brunette paused briefly from removing her gloves and turned to look at Amélie, who entered the room with a cup of tea and what seemed like telegrams.

"It went well," Patria smiled and muttered a thanks as she was handed the steaming cup. "Papa's brilliant speech seemed to move the people."

The maid playfully rolled her eyes. "Definitely Madame, but surely it was in the way you spoke that they were moved."

"What in God's name are you saying, dear? Half of the time, I did not have any clue of what I was doing!"

The two woman burst into a fit of laughter, earning quite a few looks from other men passing by the room, one of them muttering, "the nerve of some people…"

But it seemed the two hardly noticed, much less cared. After what felt like minutes, they both calmed down, attempting to retrieve their breaths.

"Oh! Ah yes," Amélie said, still half-giggling as she handed a neatly folded letter to her. "Monseigneur Lamarque asked me to give you this."

Patria gave a quick nod before placing the note on her desk, making a mental reminder to read it later. Although, it seemed as if all the life was taken out of her once joyful face once her father's name had been mentioned. But before Amélie's lips could form the worried question, the brunette had spoken up.

"Um… Amélie…. how is my father doing?"

The said woman stopped on her tracks as she felt her breath hitch in her throat. I knew this moment would eventually come…

"… Madame Patria…." she began, slowly taking a seat beside the anxious girl. "…Your father is still not well, nor does he seem to get any better. Monsieur le docteur said it could be cholera and… he would not last another year."

She could feel Patria's body tense up beside her, but no words were said. Yet, it was not like she expected any. Patria had been the kind of woman to simply obey without question, most especially when it came to her father. She was shy, quiet, timid, and not to mention, exceedingly clumsy.

Being polite, she waited for a moment to let the poor girl soak it in. But after a few minutes of silence and uneasy ambiance in the air, Amélie could not take it any longer. If Patria was not going to speak, then she will. Before even thinking, she just blurted out the first sentence that came to her mind.

"…Would you… like some sugar with your tea, Madame?"

Stupid, stupid, Amélie! The Madame is clearly mourning, and I'm asking her about tea?

Although thankfully, this seemed to snap the brunette out of her momentary trance. Patria still refused to make eye contact, but a tear was evident, trickling down her pale cheek. She stood up immediately.

"Yes, if you would be so kind, Amélie."

The maid sighed softly, so that she would not hear. "Very well, Madame. Will that be all?"

"…That will be all, thank you."

Still feeling the need to show courtesy to her 'master', she bowed her head and made her way to Patria's bedroom door. But suddenly, she stopped. She turned around, face-to-face with a slightly confused Patria.

"Madame… do you… hate your father..?"

Silence. The brunette turned deathly pale, worse than before. Her mouth gaped in shock, yet unable to find the words.

Until, Patria hastily turned away, her voice cracked and hushed. "…I think that I would prefer my tea as it is. My apologies, Amélie, but I will not require the sugar."

What could she say? What could she possibly say? It was none of her business in the first place. Amélie felt disgusted with herself after asking such a stupid question.

"Yes…. Of course, Madame."

"….Oh and, Amélie? One more thing."

The red-head turned back to her, moderately shocked. "Yes, Madame? Anything."

"He may not have been the best father, but he is a good man. And that is good enough for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ au t h o r ' s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**
> 
> **ooo snap, TENSION! What's gonna happen next? Mwahah, you'll have to wait and see~~~ Next chapter will be up soon!**
> 
> **Bear in mind that this is an ON-GOING fanfic that I intend on continuing. Go ahead an FOLLOW this story if you want to find out what happens! Also, PLEASE let me know what you think about this story/chapter by REVIEWING! It helps me out a lot. Any questions? I'm all open!**
> 
> **See ya in the next chapter! Have a good day~! XoXo**
> 
> **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
> **


	4. Errands, Errors, and Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ a u t h o r ' s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**
> 
> **I DO NOT OWN LES MISÉRABLES, NOR AM I VICTOR HUGO. Thank you!**  
>  **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
> **  
> 

As Amélie left and shut the door behind her, Patria had just been absently staring at the floor beneath her feet, unable to move. Her lips quivered but made no action to speak. How could she, after what unsatisfactory words she had spoken.

"He may not have been the best father, but he is a good man. And that is good enough for me."

Her own words had shocked her. They repeated again and again in her head, the guilt eating her away slowly like maggots on a rotting corpse. And yet… something about it felt so right.

_In my life_

_Please forgive what I say_

_You are righteous; our countrymen's spur_

_But Papa, dear Papa_

_In your eyes, I could never be fathomed_

_As you ever were_

_And these words_

_And these words, am I yet to pretend?_

_There are words_

_That are better unheard, better unsaid_

She let her thoughts drift to an image of her father, sick and in bed. He was deathly pale with his wrinkled eyes and messy silver hair. 'Poor papa…. What will become of us?'

"Stop it. Just, stop," Patria muttered under her breath. _What am I doing? Amélie said that he would no longer last a year!_ She wanted to make him proud. Just for his sake.

The faster she could do it, the better. So deciding not to waste time, Patria took the warm cup of tea in one hand, and the letter given earlier and the other. It was probably another one from her father, asking for another request.

Nonetheless, she brushed it off. She eagerly opened the sealed envelope, interested to see that there were two, completely different letters inside it.

One was written by her father, addressed to Patria herself; and the other, written in a slightly fancier piece of paper by a group who called themselves "Les Amis de l'ABC", addressed to her father as General J. Lamarque.

" _'Friends of the ABC'_?," she translated out loud, "How curious."

She set the second letter down to be read later as she opened the letter written by her father. The penmanship was slightly shaky – most likely due to his fragile hands – but the flow of the letters made it clear that it was indeed his handwriting. It read:

_Dearest Patria,_

_I hope that you are doing well. Amélie has informed me of your work today at Place Vendôme, and I pray that the people will stir. But alas, she has also mentioned that you have disobeyed one of my instructions regarding your corset. You did not even follow my one, simple instruction. I can only hope that these lessons will somehow bear into that thick skull of yours._

_However, as much as I would like to dwell on this, our countrymen are no closer to being free. Along with this letter is that of a revolutionary group's invitation to myself. Read it well and take my place, for I am weak and will not be able to attend._

_The people of France need a perfect leader of intelligence and prowess, Patria. Your homeland and namesake, patrie, needs you. Do not let us down._

_Godspeed,_

_J. Lamarque_

Her lip curled in disgust. _Tch. What am I, a laughingstock?_

His words brought her tears to her eyes and stings to her already aching heart. She felt her blood boil and was millimeters close from tearing the letter in her hands. She could've done it. But alas, she had already made her choice.

Wiping away the silent tears the rolled down her cheeks, she took a small sip of her tea, wherein she couldn't help but smile. Amélie, the dear, had made it the way she used to when she was young. Brewed with a tablespoon of lemon juice, and just the right amount of honey.

She made a mental note to thank Amélie later. But for now, work had to be done. Briefly setting down the steaming cup, Patria opened the second letter as she was told and read it carefully.

The first thing she noticed was the beautiful handwriting. A man's, no doubt, but the way he carried his pen was full of diligence and the words he chose were faultless and passionate. Patria thought it was crazy, but she found herself completely falling in love with someone's penmanship alone.

Pushing her word fantasies aside, she proceeded to read the rest of the letter. They introduced themselves as a group of male students who called themselves "Les Amis de l'ABC". It seemed they had invited her father to come speak with them about 'making political changes' in France – God knows how they would, as they refused to state it in their letter – with him as their leader and main supporter.

It wasn't as detailed as she expected, as they wrote that they would only speak of their full plans once her father came to their meeting. Curious indeed. How could a girl like her resist?

Thankfully though, the men ended their invitation with a date and address. It read:

_Café Musain, 57 Boulevard Saint-Michel_

_April 24, 1832_

_Feel free to join us for supper at 5 o' clock sharp._

_"Saint-Michel… 24th of April," she read aloud, before realization dawned before her. "But... That's today!"_

_Patria immediately sprung up from her chair and grabbed her coat from the rack, briefly rummaging her pockets to check her watch. _12 minutes after 5 0' clock... The meeting has just begun!__

_With that, she dashed out of the room like a madman, muttering apologies as she constantly bumped into a few unamused people. It was then she noticed that it had been raining heavily outside. How unfortunate._

" _Amélie!_ " she huffed out as she stopped so suddenly, meeting the red-head by the doors. "I must be off immediately, where is Donatien?" 

The maid seemed stunned with her sudden ragged appearance. "Donatien? Ah, the coachman?" 

Patria nodded frantically, finally finding time to put on her coat. "Yes, the rain doesn't look like it will stop anytime soon, and I am expected to be in Saint-Michel this very moment!" 

"Donatien took Monsieur Léandre to the bakery a few moments ago. I'm sorry Madame, they took the last carriage." 

_How splendid indeed._ She did not have time for this! The young men had expected her father to appear, and now, not even she could attend! No, she would not allow it. There was only one option left. 

Patria sighed, exhausted. "Very well, then. I shall walk there myself," she claimed, and Amélie turned as white as a sheet. "Ah yes, thank you for the tea earlier, Amélie." 

"Of course, I'm glad… B-but Madame Patria, Saint-Michel is at least 40 minutes away by foot, and the rain shows no mercy tonight!" she tried, but it was too late. Patria was already out the door. 

"O-oh dear…. Monseigneur Lamarque will have my head!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ a u t h o r ' s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~**
> 
>  
> 
> **Hmmm….. I wonder who's gonna be in the next chapter~~? Anyways, yeah: Patria has some daddy issues. Hope ya'll are liking this so far! The next chapter (with a certain someone *ahem ahem*) will be up soon!**
> 
>  
> 
> **Bear in mind that this is an ON-GOING fanfic that I intend on continuing. Go ahead an FOLLOW this story if you want to find out what happens! Also, PLEASE let me know what you think about this story/chapter by REVIEWING! It helps me out a lot. Any questions? I'm all open!**
> 
>  
> 
> **See ya in the next chapter! Have a good day~! XoXo**
> 
>  
> 
> **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
> **  
> 


	5. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ a u t h o r ' s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ****
> 
>  
> 
> **I DO NOT OWN LES MISÉRABLES, NOR AM I VICTOR HUGO. Thank you!**
> 
>  
> 
> **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
> **  
> 

"Quarter to six."

Courfeyrac snapped his rusty, silver pocketwatch shut and began to drum his fingers anxiously on the wooden table, muttering a few love poems in French under his breath. This apparently annoyed Combeferre who gave him a kick in the shin, just under the table.

"Ow! What was that for?" the student growled, glaring at the man across him.

"You know Enjolras," Combeferre spoke up instead, ignoring Courfeyrac's complaints, "Maybe he just couldn't come tonight."

"He will show up," the said man responded almost immediately without hesitation.

Grantaire scoffed. "I thought the same thing an hour ago…"

"Stay hopeful, brothers," Marius spoke up this time, backing up Enjolras. "Maybe he was just caught up in the storm."

And as if it had just heard Marius' words, the thunders crashed and the rain poured, further proving his point. It slightly shook the tables and blew out a few candles, startling the young men. Luckily enough, they were safe under the roof of the café, but what about General Lamarque?

"Perhaps…" Courfeyrac sighed wistfully as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Maybe… Just maybe you are right, Marius."

"Alright, but one more hour and I shall consider smashing this bottle on my head," Grantaire grumbled, seemingly drunk from drinking at least 4 bottles of Château Margaux in merely an hour. He never failed to amaze them.

But as the drunkard brought the rim of his fifth bottle to his lips, a young boy's voice resonated all around the room, catching the students' attention. It was Gavroche, no doubt. He dashed up the stairs of the café, his long, dirty-blonde hair slightly damp under his favorite cap.

"Messieurs! Messieurs! There's someone at the door," he claimed, "goes by _'Le-marge'_ or somethin', I dunno. They're soaking wet!"

Chuckles and sighs were the only things heard from the students. No one spoke, for they didn't need to; at that moment, it was clear as day. General Lamarque had arrived.

Enjolras couldn't help but feel at least a little giddy at the thought of meeting the man who had inspired him to found the Les Amis de l'ABC. It definitely wasn't a daily - nor weekly or monthly – occurrence.

His comrades had all turned to look at him expectantly, goofy grins upon their faces. With a confirming nod, the leader wasted no time as he stood up immediately and rushed downstairs to the café's front entrance without saying another word.

Enjolras eagerly opened the door, bringing the pouring rain and blowing winds into their warm safehouse. He shivered as the cold hit him, but kept the door open long enough for the cloaked figure – Lamarque, he assumed – to enter. Poor man, he must have spent at least half an hour under this terrible weather, considering that he was not in a carriage.

He immediately shut the doors once his guest was inside, and humbly eased him out of his thick coat, soaking wet from hours of heavy rainfall. Enjolras managed to sneak a quick glance at him, but that was it. Oddly enough, he had not a single strand of silver upon his hair like he had seen before, but instead, had long brown hair tied into a man bun.

Okay, definitely not what he was expecting, but Enjolras brushed it off either way.

"I humbly apologize Monsieur, we were unaware of the weather this evening," he said, turning his back to Lamarque to hang the man's cloak on a rack. "Now, how do you like your tea, Monsieur? You must be freezing."

"Just brewed. But with honey, if you and your friends have some," a rather high, feminine voice answered.

_Wait._

Enjolras stopped on his tracks.

_What?_

He immediately spun around, slowly but surely allowing his gaze to travel up at the figure in front of him. Brown, leather boots with a bit of heel, a damp night-blue dress, frilly underdress, seemingly-soft hands with long, delicate fingers and a corset to further accentuate her hourglass-like figure.

His gaze traveled higher, and admired her chiseled jawline, slightly flushed cheeks, and finally, his shining blue eyes met with those of the owner of the voice; a _woman._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ a u t h o r ' s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ****
> 
>  
> 
> **sorry for the short chapter but...... OOHHH SNAP! Yes, that just happened. I apologize for the cliffhanger! Oh wait, no I don't. MWAHAHA…. Next chapter will be up REAL soon; don't want you guys to wait too long~~**
> 
>  
> 
> **Bear in mind that this is an ON-GOING fanfic that I intend on continuing. Go ahead an FOLLOW this story if you want to find out what happens! Also, PLEASE let me know what you think about this story/chapter by REVIEWING! It helps me out a lot. Any questions? I'm all open!**
> 
>  
> 
> **See ya in the next chapter! Have a good day~! XoXo**
> 
>  
> 
> **~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
> **  
> 


	6. The Les Amis de l'ABC

“A-are you…. feeling alright, Monsieur?” the woman asked worriedly, feeling slightly flustered as she noticed Enjolras staring rather intently at her self. Whether it was in fear, shock, or awe, she could not figure out.

_A woman._

His eyes scanned her up and down one last time. Auburn locks pulled into a bun, with a few stray locks that flowed down her cheeks, smoky green – or was it blue? – eyes that shined at him with a hint of worry, thin, dry lips to go with her pale, yet rosy cheeks. Although Enjolras himself hardly cared much about the appearances of the opposite gender, yet he dared say she was quite… winsome. 

_Definitely a woman. No, no, no, not just a young lady…. I’ve seen her face before._

“Um… is this Café Musain?” 

Enjolras managed to snap himself out of his thoughts, and looked up at her, still processing the question she just asked. I must look absolutely stupid…  
He wasn’t exactly sure how long he had been dazed, but based on her fidgeting, it must have been quite long. 

“…Indeed it is, Mademoiselle. In fact, my comrades are just on the next floor,” he finally managed to say, gesturing for her to follow him up the stairs. “But, please excuse them in advance. Some of them can get a little… flamboyant.”

“Oh, I do not mind,” the young lady answered politely, following eagerly behind him. Enjolras merely gave a nod and turned his back to her, unaware that she began to study his features for the first time that evening.

He was generously tall, around 6 feet she guessed, considering her own height when he was in front of her. His blonde tresses curled all the way onto the nape of his neck and on his forehead, just above his misty blue eyes. 

Along with the stripes of gold on his waistcoat, the peaked lapels and the flashes of bronze buttons on his crimson red jacket, he visually seemed lush and captivating. He was a beautiful creation of God indeed. Perhaps even that was an understatement.

The blonde promptly turned around – immediately snapping her out of her thoughts –and courteously ushered her towards the second floor. It was an exceptionally wide-spaced area filled with chairs and tables, occupied by several men who chatting rather loudly, not noticing them arrive.

She followed close behind as the blonde cleared his throat, immediately making himself the center of attention. The group turned to him with smiles.

“Ah, Enjolras!” A young man greeted, “Was it General Lamarque at the door?”

“Of course it was him! Monseigneur Lamarque hardly declines nor misses any meetings,” another man with sideburns stated this time, only to be objected by yet another male student.

“He missed one last Thursday and another just this morning, Prouvaire. At Place Vendôme.”

Patria raised a brow. They had seen her this morning, then?

“W-well, that’s probably because – ”

The ginger haired man’s mouth immediately snapped shut as his eyes managed to land on a certain young lady behind their revolutionary leader. And much to her horror, everyone in the whole room had turned to look at her, wearing the same, uniformed look of shock. It was as if they had never seen a woman before.

“It’s a lady!” A man exclaimed in a hushed tone.

“Enjolras has brought a woman!”

“Has he gone mad?”

At this point, she felt like disappearing into thin air, if it weren’t for Enjolras abruptly stepping aside to begin introductions. _Oh dear._

“Citizens, may I introduce to you, Mademoiselle Lamarque. I suspect she will be filling in for her father, General Lamarque. Isn’t that right, Madame?”

The men turned to the addressed brunette, who merely raised a brow. “My father?”

“Yes. The general is your father, is he not?”

“Indeed, he is. But I never told you that, Monsieur… Do you… know me?” she accused, and she could see a few students snickering in their seats as Enjolras looked like a deer caught in the headlights., which only confirmed her suspicions.

“I, erm… I was merely assuming he sent you, Madame,” he responded boldly, but anyone would be able to tell his white lies. One of his comrades scoffed,

“Oh, don’t listen to Apollo over here, he’s a big fan of your father’s!”

“Grantaire,” he warned.

“He attends all of Monsieur Lamarque’s speeches as regularly as he can. Especially the one this morning,” he wiggled his eyebrows at the both of them, and Patria couldn’t help but chuckle in amusement.

Enjolras felt the woman’s eyes on him, and he was close to grabbing the drunkard and shoving him out the window, but decided against it, as it would not make a very good first impression. Hence, he said nothing and simply prayed that he would last the night without having to actually throw anyone out the café window.

“W-well, I’m very flattered, Messieurs. It seems you know more about me than myself, therefore I shall keep the introductions brief,” she stepped forward, bowing her head to show courtesy. “My name is Bérénice Patria Lamarque. Pleasure to meet you all.”

_Patria. Oh, a beautiful name._

“Patria? As in… _‘homeland’_?” a younger boy – no older than 12 – with a cockney accent questioned, and she nodded.

“Yes, and Bérénice for _‘bringer of victory’_ ,” she added sheepishly, earning a couple of raised brows. “Um…. My father was very… dedicated.”

To her relief, the young men either smiled or stood up, approaching her with inviting smiles. Maybe it wouldn’t be as hard as she initially thought it would be. One man with curly black hair approached her first, saying,

“Don’t worry, Madame! It’s a fit name for a such a ravishing lady. I’m Courfeyrac, by the way. Third-in-command of Les Amis and thoroughly influential to the public,” he abruptly knelt before her feet and shot her a cocky smirk. “Especially with women.”

Courfeyrac had taken Patria’s hand in his, and judging by the mischievous glint in his eyes, he was going to kiss it; possibly to show courtesy. Although, something told her he had different objectives.

As a last minutes save, she abruptly shook his hand with a wide grin, earning low chuckles from other men in the room. Save, of course, Enjolras, who disappointedly hid his face in his palm. 

“Forgive our friend, Madame Patria. He’s always been like that. Ah, and my name is Jean Prouvaire,” another student with a questionable sense of fashion – not that she had one herself – greeted with an honest smile.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jean, but no need to formalities. Oh and about Courfeyrac, I don’t mind. As long as he doesn’t expect me to get in his trousers, I think he’s very striking so far.”

The said man attempted to hide his face, which was stained with pink as the whole room instantaneously burst into a fit of laughter – the first one of many more to come that evening. She had to admit, it felt nice being in a different surrounding for once.

Soon enough, Patria was surrounded by young men that she could barely see Enjolras. Although, she had to suppress a chuckle as she saw his expression: caught up between joining his friends’ laughter, or committing suicide out of embarrassment. The latter seemed more evident, she decided later on.

But she immediately shifted her gaze once she saw another group of men come towards her. She happily shook their hands as they introduced,

“I’m Feuilly. Eldest here and not exactly a student, but I’m a fan-maker.”

“I’m Bahorel, Madame. It’s a pleasure.”

“And I’m Lesgle; the man with the worst luck.”

Patria could not help but laugh. “Well then, I think we’ll get along just fine, Lesgle.”

The said man chuckled, but moved aside to let his brunette friend step forward. In fact, now that Patria thought about it, she saw him in the corner of the room a little while ago, checking his own pulse. She found it a bit odd, but brushed it of anyway.

“Good evening, Madame. I am Joly; medical student and Les Amis’ one and only Monsieur le docteur. ”

 _A medical man, huh?_ Patria had always admired doctors, as they were always so brilliant and dedicated. She made sure to shower the young men with with compliments and thanks, earning grins from all around before they stepped aside for yet another batch of their fellow comrades.

“Hello, Madame Patria! I am Grantaire. Give me brandy on my breath, and I'll breathe them all to death!” the same man from before laughed heartily, earning yet another glare from Enjolras.

“That’s his favorite line,” Joly informed, earning a chuckle from Patria.

The next young man, she had to admit, was very charming. His face was splattered with freckles, making him look younger than he already was. “My name is Marius Pontmercy, Madame Patria. Ex-Bonapartist, and unfortunately, Courfeyrac’s flat mate.”

It seemed that they just wouldn’t let the poor man go. She heartily laughed along with the other men as Courfeyrac groaned loudly, “Can we please stop talking about me?”

“Then let’s talk about me!” A higher, younger voice said proudly, his accent as thick as ever. Just then, her eyes landed on the same young lad from moments ago, pushing himself forward, in front of the crowd. He seemed feisty, despite the fact she was only up to her torso. Not that it mattered to her, of course.

“How do ya do, the name’s Gavroche! Pleased to meet’cha. But don’t let the size fool ya, I can lift and shoot a carbine m’self!” he puffed his chest out, although Patria found it completely adorable. 

“And I’m Combeferre,” the last – and rather handsome – man stepped forward, bowing to show courtesy unlike some others. “Philosopher and second-in-command of Les Amis de l’ABC.”

He shared a similar aura with Enjolras – probably why he was chosen as second-in-command – but seemed more calm and sympathetic. So, making a mental note to talk to him later, she returned his grin and shook his hand politely.

“Wonderful to meet you, Combeferre. In fact, it’s wonderful to meet you all. But… if Courfeyrac is the third-in-command and you are the second… May I ask, who is the first?”

“I am.”

As if on cue, a distinguishable – not to mention, rich, smooth and resonant voice responded from behind her. Everyone had ceased their chattering and Patria felt her breath hitch in her throat. _Oh, of course. It was him._

She gradually turned around, and founder herself face-to-face with just the man she was expecting to see. 

The blonde was sauntering towards her, his comrades parting around him like the Red Sea for him to pass. She could feel herself crumbling at his gaze, much different from the first time they had met, merely moments ago. He was bursting with integrity and charisma that she had not seen in anyone in her whole life. Suddenly she felt as if she were a moth drawn to a fiery flame. If it were possible for the soul to leave the body, she may have just experienced it herself. 

“Please pardon my discourtesy earlier, I failed to introduce myself,” he had stopped right in front of her, crossing his arms. “My name is Enjolras. Chief of the Les Amis de l’ABC.”


	7. They're All the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ a u t h o r ’ s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
> 
> I DO NOT OWN LES MISÉRABLES, NOR AM I VICTOR HUGO. Thank you!
> 
> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“…and though there are countless other reasons, these are some of our most crucial.”

Patria jumped awake as Enjolras slammed his notebook shut, finally putting an end to his 12-page long speech regarding France’s “atrocious” government. She groggily blinked a couple of times, feeling slightly guilty of her drowsiness during the well-prepared speech. Hopefully no one noticed…

“Which is why we are in debt to your father, Madame,” Combeferre added, “General Lamarque was the only man who showed pity upon these unfortunate souls.”

Patria blinked. She couldn’t help but feel slightly overwhelmed with their choice of words. Despite their age, majority of them spoke passionately and promptly, much like lawyers. Perhaps they took law school? She made a mental note to ask them sometime.

“Indeed, he’s always been a self-less man,” Patria courtly nodded despite the irony of his comment.

“Is he coming, then?” She lifted her head, meeting the gaze of another student – _Grantaire, was it?_ – with yet another bottle of alcohol in his hand. “We could plan another meeting, if he still wishes to attend.”

She froze. There was no way this could have been avoided. Patria paused, pursing her lip in hesitation. “I… I’m afraid Monsieur Lamarque will not be joining us this evening. Nor… ever again, due to his imminent illness.” 

She kept her gaze glued to the floor, not even bearing to imagine the distraught look on their faces. Though, who could blame them? Even if she weren’t the man’s daughter, his affliction and possible death would be a big blow to the less fortunate citizens of France. 

Without him, whose shoulder would they learn to lean on if they could barely even believe in themselves? It would not be an easy battle even if they had the gall to fight for their freedom. All they could do now was keep the people’s faith, which was not evident at the time being. _God have mercy on this country…_

Enjolras’ voice soon broke through the silence, not even allowing his comrades to soak in the situation completely as he abruptly stood from his seat. “Then this meeting is adjourned. Thank you for your time, Madame Patria. Courfeyrac, Combeferre, stay. The rest of you; dismissed.”

The Les Amis grew silent in a daze for a moment, until one student stood, obeying their leader’s requests. Then, one after the other, the rest of the men got off their seats, merely tossing their hopes aside. Patria could do nothing but watch in dismay. 

_Was that it? Despite their desperation, they just throw everything aside like that? Are they that hopeless?_  
Her thoughts became occupied with useless questions, but her body was already making a move, something she did quite often. Before she knew it, Patria had stood from her seat.

“Monsieur Enjolras, wait!”

Much to her relief – yet also her horror – the blonde paused, then turned to look at her rather intently. That’s when her mind decides to shut down for the second time, hitting her like a slap to the face. All at once, she felt so little; cowering under those smoky blue eyes that managed to make just about anyone shut up like a complete idiot. This wasn’t going to be easy.

“Perhaps I can take his place…?” she managed to squeak out.

A pause. “You? Take Lamarque’s place?”

“…Yes..?” The brunette hesitantly nodded, cringing a little at the softness and hoarseness of her voice. She really needed a drink…

“…Madame, with all due respect, it would be unwise of me to allow you into the field of battle,” he chuckled mildly as stared at her with an ‘isn’t-it-obvious’ kind of look. “I assure you it’s nothing personal towards you, it’s just that you’re – ”

“A woman.”

Her heated gaze flickered upwards, daring to meet Enjolras’. His pale lips were slightly parted in shock and his eyebrows were furrowed. _Was he confused? In shock? Perhaps he hadn’t expected me to resist?_ The more she thought about it, the more her blood began to boil. 

“Explain it to me, Monsieur.”

She watched as he fumbled for words. “Madame Patria, it is a man’s duty to protect his country, along with all women and children who reside in it. We are ready to lay down our very lives for you and that our future generations may live in freedom and peace.”

“Then what do you expect us to do, Monsieur? Watch as our fathers, brothers, families and friends die for our own cause?” 

He said nothing.

Patria willingly continued. “Because that is what you are making us women do. You’re making us watch. If you let this continue, then we’ll be no greater than those unfeeling vermins ruling our government! We’re not just some helpless chunk of flesh put on this Earth for men’s gratification. We have our rights and our freedom. Isn’t that what you all are willing to die for?”

“…Indeed it is.”

“And so?” 

Crossing her arms, she anxiously waited for the revolutionary leader’s verdict. Enjolras gaze seemed to flicker towards his comrades every once in a while; perhaps he was half-expecting them to back him up. But everyone felt as troubled as her, it seemed. They were all frozen in place, heavily engrossed in their leader’s heated debate with herself. Perhaps they had never seen a woman stand up for herself before? _Oh, men. Whether they’re those abusive bourgeois or rebel supporters, they’re all the same._

Reverting her attention back to the man before her, she stared at him keenly this time, hoping to be able to read him somehow. After all, men had always been the easiest ones to decipher. Always nonchalant, always misjudging, and always the same. 

And yet there was something about him. Something about him that made her vision hazy. Something about him that made her turn pale. Something that made him seem so… inscrutable. It jumbled her senses, and dropped her defenses.

The look he gave her… The look of genuine concern.

_What is this strange feeling… And could it be… that he feels the same way?_

It felt all the more cliché, but she found herself slowly giving in. If he felt was she was feeling, then he must understand. With the slightest bit of hope, she scanned Enjolras’ face one last time, hoping to see any sign of approval or impact in those shining blue orbs at all. Any sign. Anything at all. 

_Could it be this was love?_

And just when her hopes began to build up, a sudden look of doubt flashed on his pale face and his façade fell into pieces. His body tensed and Patria immediately understood. That brief taste of ecstasy wasn’t what it seemed. That strange feeling… it wasn’t love.

It was his own pride.

“I thought so.”

Inhaling sharply, she promptly made her way to the café stairs, feeling all of their eyes on her as she turned her back. Despite the excruciating feeling of guilt and insolence in her head, she searched, yet found no regrets in her heart. This was her choice. And she reminded herself not to allow such things as ‘love’ or ‘hope’ to get in the way. She’d had enough experiences to know that those feelings, in fact, don’t exist. Not in her world, anyway.

She may not have won the argument, but she knew that was not the point. She said what needed to be said. And if it ended up with the men of France – or even the whole world – loathing her forever, then to hell with it. _After all, they are men. They’re all the same._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ a u t h o r ’ s n o t e ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
> 
> This chapter was EXTREMELY challenging to write, so I’m sorry if it was cliché or ‘not well written’ :,))) I might revise it in the future, but for now, you’re stuck with this crappy chapter sooo…. Next chapter has been written already, btw!! It’s one of my favorite ones tbh, so I’ll be posting it soon as well~~ 
> 
> Bear in mind that this is an ON-GOING fanfic that I intend on continuing. Go ahead an FOLLOW this story if you want to find out what happens! Also, PLEASE let me know what you think about this story/chapter by REVIEWING! It helps me out a lot. Any questions? I’m all open!
> 
> See ya in the next chapter! Have a good day~!! XoXo
> 
> ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ xXx ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


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